The Night Drive
by Loafer
Summary: Lassiet. Carlton stumbles into crime-related misadventure late one night and Juliet is the first person he contacts to help him from afar. Lassiet. Did I mention it was Lassiet?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** : I gotta keep telling you I don't claim to own anything about _psych_? Geez.  
 **Rating** : T  
 **Summary** : Lassiet. OK? Carlton finds misadventure late one night and Juliet is the first person he contacts to help him from afar.

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It was one of those crisp cool nights which made Juliet imagine she hadn't been raised in Miami and didn't live even now near the sea; a night which made her feel that if she were to start walking, she might find a light dusting of sparkling white snow just around the next bend.

Fanciful thought, but she'd been having a lot of those lately.

The stars were bright and the neighbors quiet, always a good combination. She shivered a little and went back inside her apartment to find her shawl, just as her cell phone on the kitchen counter beeped with a text.

Carlton, she read, and was pleased.

But the words under his name seemed incomprehensible.

 _Don't call. Track GPS. OK but in car trunk._

She read them twice more.

He wouldn't be joking. Not his kind of joke.

 _OK_ , she texted back. _Hang on_.

It seemed to take forever to get through to Chief Vick, to set in motion the GPS tracking.

 _They're on it. What happened? Where are you? You really OK?_

 _Was on camuesa w of pbar flats._

She translated that, moving to her laptop to fire up maps. Camuesa was a road winding through Los Padres, and 'pbar flats' was no doubt the P-Bar Flats campground.

It was 25 miles away, but ninety minutes' drive given the winding road, and what the hell was he doing up there on a Saturday night at ten?

Not important right now, she told herself, and passed the information via text to Karen Vick so she could return to her partner.

 _Situation?_

The answer came too fast; he must have been keying it in already.

 _Stopped to change tire & guy walked up w gun. Hisp 5'9 35ish stocky. Short hair no tats no stash._

More to pass to the Chief.

 _How'd he miss the phone?_

 _Was in trunk w wallet. Said if I had phone I wouldn't change tire myself._

Juliet had to smile. It wasn't quite true, but if he'd said it with enough acid, anyone would have believed him.

 _What about the interior trunk release?_

Designed for this very situation.

 _Bastard smashed it with my tire iron._

 _Oh. Crap._

His response was: **. . .**

Yeah, hers would be too.

 _Are you OK really?_ He hadn't answered that before.

 _Yeah but cramped. Can't tell direction. Think still w-bound._

There weren't a lot of _directions_ to go up there: any road off of Camuesa would have to fight its way through the forest and the mountains, which didn't… give.

But there were a lot of little campgrounds and dirt roads. If his kidnapper knew the terrain, it didn't matter how precise the GPS tracking was: it would take forever to catch up to them.

That was, she acknowledged with a chill, if they could even keep within range of cell towers so he _could_ be tracked, let alone continue texting her.

 _Paved or dirt?_

 _Paved until 10 min ago._

She passed that on.

 _What's your read on the guy?_

 _Said he just wanted the car. Seems like on a mission but not full-out killer._

He had to use the word _killer_ , didn't he. Juliet took a breath. Her partner was locked in a car trunk hurtling through Los Padres and he just freaking had to use the word _killer_.

Message from Karen Vick: _Still haven't got GPS yet_.

Juliet's heart sank.

She texted her back: _I want to go find him_.

 _No. Stay on the line. Pass details on but keep him with you._

Keep him with me, she thought. If only.

To Carlton, she texted: _What else did he say?_

 _Nothing. Gun was Colt._

She assumed the Chief already had people checking on inhabitants of the P-Bar Flats campground; a man on foot wouldn't have come far along that road at night. Still…

 _Do you think he came from the P-Bar?_

 _Too dark too late to be from anywhere else._

Which might also be why he hadn't merely left Carlton at the side of the road: he knew the campgrounds were close and Carlton might have made it back there to report the theft.

 _Are you OK?_

 _You asked already._

 _Tell me again._

 _Too tall for trunk life but OK._

 _And he doesn't know who you are?_

 _No._

 _You didn't tell him?_

Because Carlton's love of being a cop did tend to make him _tell_ people.

 _Didn't seem prudent._

Well, there was a switch.

 _What were you doing out there?_

 _Driving._

Driving. Late at night, far from home, on a forest road in the dark.

 _Weapon?_

 _No._

Juliet frowned.

 _Stopping_ , he texted. _Go dark_.

Her heart was hammering, out of the blue. She managed to get the information to Karen, but her fingers were shaking so she had no idea if her text made sense.

 _Carlton, be okay_ , she prayed. _Don't take chances, don't provoke him, don't you dare take yourself out of my life._

Five minutes went by.

She aged ten years.

The Chief reported that calculations about typical speed on Camuesa, if the driver had continued west, and factoring in Carlton's assumption that they'd left the paved road, showed they _could_ be over near Mono Campground. Units were on the way.

 _Keep them quiet_ , Juliet texted back, even though she didn't need to.

The screen lit up, and so did her heart.

 _Moving again. Slow. Dirt._

 _You OK?_

She let the Chief know they were on the move.

 _He opened trunk. Forest everywhere. Shocker._

 _This is no time for jokes_ , she shot back.

 _Got nothing else to do. Checked on me. Said be quiet._

 _Texting too loudly?_

 _No time for jokes,O._

She could almost see the gleam in his vivid blue eyes, the one he got whenever they were engaged in one-upping each other. He'd better damned well get out of this.

 _S.O.B. How's his mood?_

 _Flat._

 _Yours?_

 _Pretzel._

 _Carlton. I will smack you._

 _Find me first._

Her heart did that hammering thing again.

 _I'm trying._

 _That's what you say about me._

She laughed out loud and had to wipe her eyes and had never felt more connected to Carlton Lassiter than she did right now.

 _Sorry btw._

 _For what?_

 _For being trying. I don't say sorry or thanks enough._

 _Partner, you say plenty._

 _And then you usually say 'be nice.'_

 _Don't be nice right now. It scares me._

 _Got nothing else to do_ , he repeated.

She had to know. She knew he probably wouldn't tell her, but she had to ask.

 _Why were you out driving in the middle of nowhere so late?_

The screen was dark too long. She hoped he was just deciding on an answer, and not in renewed danger.

 _Therapy._

She felt relief, and then confusion.

 _For what?_

Another long pause.

 _Regrets._

There was a squeezing in her chest.

 _What do you have regrets about?_

No answer. But she knew he knew he _had_ to answer, to prove he was okay there in the trunk.

 _Carlton?_

 _Inaction. Silence. Me._

She was uncertain how to respond.

He texted: _About you_.

This terrified her.

Chief Vick interrupted with an update request.

No no no, she thought, and texted Carlton: _they think you're near Mono Campground_.

She fired off _still on the move_ to Vick, but how to answer Carlton? How did she want to?

Some of her fanciful thoughts lately, along with thoughts of snow on walking paths, had been of him, of her coiled-energy controlled partner and those crystal blue eyes and his lean strength and quiet conviction and utter Carlton-ness.

Of Carlton in her life in a deeper way than he already was.

Of Carlton closer to her than he already was.

As if he could be. As if any man could be closer to her without being her lover.

Carlton texted: _Makes sense. Not much else does_.

Given the turn of her thoughts, this was at first startling because yes, it did make sense, Carlton as her lover. She'd never thought it so dramatically clearly before, but yes.

But he was not on the same page with her at the moment; his text only showed he was always the fatalist.

She did not like the word 'fatal' in any form.

 _When you come home we will talk about those regrets._

 _Not good at talk._

 _When you are home,_ she punched in almost savagely, _we will establish you have nothing to regret._

Another long pause.

 _You and what army?_

 _The Army of Juliet._

 _Can take you down single-handed._

 _Not when I'm on a mission, buster._

 _Lost cause more than a mission. Leave it be._

She wanted to stop texting and just call him, and hated that she couldn't.

 _Carlton, you can't say you have regrets about me and then refuse to talk about it._

 _Little busy right now, and leave it BE._

 _You just said you weren't busy, and I can't._

The pause was too long, and the chill she felt was nothing like the one from the night air outside.

 _Screw this, I'm coming up there after you right now._

Her hand was on her car keys when Chief Vick texted.

 _GPS definitely places him near Mono. Units moving in on foot. Keep him talking!_

Carlton, meanwhile, texted something simpler.

 _Stopped. Go dark._

Then one last screen light-up…

 _IWALU_.

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** **. . . .**

In the time that followed, time she couldn't measure but which might have been ten minutes, two hours, or a year, Juliet couldn't stop these thoughts from repeating in her head.

— His situation was worse than he'd let on.  
— He didn't expect to make it out.  
— He. Loved. Her.

And if Chief Vick thought she was going to wait in her damned apartment instead of doing _something_ to find him, then the woman was certifiably insane.

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	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

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For a long time it was quiet.

The engine was off, and there were no sounds: no voices, no radio, no door opening or closing.

He could make out one lonely cricket nearby, and that was it.

At least half an hour passed, half an hour where Carlton's considerable ability to wait patiently was sorely tested.

A half hour where he asked himself repeatedly why, why, _why_ he had sent that last text to Juliet. It was true, damn it all, but _if_ he made it out of here, she was done with him, and if he didn't, what was the point of having told her?

 _Idiot._

 _Locked in your own damned trunk_ idiot.

And maybe not getting out again if the trunk release was damaged beyond repair. When they'd stopped the last time, the man had to thump it more than once to get it open.

 _Fan-freaking-tastic_. With the space much too small for him to twist around and try to get out via the back seat, they'd have to jaws-of-life his pretzelized corpse out.

Yeah, waiting sucked.

The fact that it sucked led to why the man stopped the first time. He might have left that part out of his text to Juliet: he'd been determinedly struggling to see if he could get the trunk release to work despite the number his captor had done it.

He might also have been yelling a bit. And kicking. And generally not being a quiet little victim.

The guy had stopped rather abruptly, marched back to the trunk, popped it with difficulty and unleashed a stream of Spanish/English invective of which Carlton understood _every_ heated word and then backhanded him for good measure before slamming the lid down again.

Pain, he reminded himself grimly, was temporary.

 _Waiting_ was interminable.

Suddenly the car shifted, the thunk of the car door unmistakable. The man had gotten out.

Whatever was going to happen, was happening _now_ , and Carlton felt relief rather than fear.

Except…

Not necessarily.

For another thirty minutes, he heard the scuff of footsteps on the dirt road, all around the car, over and over. His captor was pacing? Waiting. Undecided?

There were muffled sounds, as if the man were talking to himself. Carlton didn't think it was a phone call; the tone of the sounds was more… well, like a man talking to himself. And not exactly in a flattering way, either.

This could be good: it meant his initial impression of the guy not being a natural born killer was right.

Except…

There came an inexcusably loud thump a few inches from his face, and with a sudden whoosh, the trunk flew open above him. The man pointed the gun at Carlton and said coldly, "Get out."

So… not necessarily.

It wasn't that easy to clamber free; he'd been stuffed in there going on two hours now and his long legs needed some untangling time.

The man was unsmiling. He didn't look like anyone Carlton had ever imagined killing him.

Walloping him upside the head with a gun, sure, and not just because it happened when he resisted getting in the trunk in the first place.

"What's the plan?" Carlton asked when he had both feet on solid ground, because he'd had _enough_ waiting.

"You stay. I go."

He looked around: tall trees, stars glinting through the branches. Chilly. Dark. The dirt road, illuminated by the tail lights, uneven. No idea where in the hell he was, and it was unlikely he'd be given a flashlight. Or a match.

"Where are we?"

"Go through the trees there," the man said with a head jerk to the left, "and you'll hit Mono Creek. Head north, to the right. When you hit another dirt road follow it back to Mono Campground. You can get help from someone there."

Carlton tried to get a read on him but he was so expressionless it was difficult. "What are _you_ going to do?"

Now he smiled, but it was thin. "I'm gonna kill a relative."

 _Okay… you're done with stupid-ass texts to your partner. Time to be a cop again._

"You sure about that?"

The man looked at him.

"You don't have any other options?"

"Through the trees, amigo. The creek's a hundred feet away."

"You might as well talk to me. When I find help maybe I can send some in your direction."

The scowl he got back was impressive—nearly as good as one of his own. "Unless you're a some kinda ninja you can't help. Nobody can. Besides, I cracked you in the face. Why would you want to help me?"

Carlton kept his body language as neutral as possible, resolutely not swiping at the blood he could still feel damp against his aching head. "What about the relative you're going after?"

"You help him, you kill my family."

Every last one of his cop-sensors went on full alert.

"Okay, see, now I have to know. Don't make me wonder about it while I'm working my way up the damned creek in the middle of the blackest night God ever made."

To his surprise, the man laughed. "I hear that."

And he didn't raise the gun higher, and he didn't renew his threat.

Carlton waited, keeping his arms at his side and his gaze unwavering.

"I'm going after my cousin," the man finally said. "He took something from some people. They want it back. They took my family from me and said if I don't get their property from my cousin, my family's dead and then I will be too."

He gave Carlton a moment to digest this.

"So I got nothing left to lose, yeah? But I don't want to kill you. You make it up to Mono, you can tell everyone I'm no killer."

Carlton had to point this out, but withheld the snark he might have used on an ordinary suspect: "Well, except for your cousin being dead."

The man spat on the ground. "He's a low-life. There's a reason he hides way out here."

"Did he take their drugs or their money?"

"Drugs."

"And what's your plan?"

The man tilted his head, obviously sensing a shift here. "Why you want to know?"

 _Tread carefully, Lassiter._

"Maybe I have some ideas. Your cousin lives in a camper or a tent? What's your plan?"

"Why you asking?" he repeated, a touch belligerently.

"Look, he probably knows he's in their sights. He'll be ready for someone to come in after him."

"Yeah. That's why they sent me."

"What, you're supposed to just walk in there and say 'hey cuz, what's up,' and he won't shoot you on sight?"

He grinned at that. "We're familia, man. Gotta give family the benefit of the doubt."

"Fair enough. But then what? What's your reason for turning up in the middle of the night in a car he doesn't recognize?"

"Emergency. Had to get word to him about his sick mom."

"He doesn't have a phone?"

"Out here they don't work much. I can say I tried but gave up."

Thank God _his_ phone had worked. Too bad it hadn't quit before he metaphorically bared himself to his partner.

"And then you say 'hey, as long as I'm here, mind if I search the place?'"

"Whatever, man. Why do you care?"

"I don't want your family hurt."

"Why do you _care_?" he repeated angrily. "You don't even know me."

Carlton retorted, "My therapist said not to be picky about where I start new friendships."

Although being on the wrong side of a gun held by the guy who punched him and forced him into his own car trunk probably wasn't what she had in mind.

While the man was staring at him, he added, "I'm Lassiter. What's _your_ name?"

Long, long, long pause.

"Rico."

"Rico, if you drive up to his door while I go around the back, I can start the search while you distract him out front."

Rico's mouth fell open. "What the hell?"

"Does he have dogs?"

"Look, I don't know who you—"

"Is there anyone else on the property? Girlfriend, partner in crime, parrot with an attitude?" He paused. "Olympia Dukakis?"

"Dude, are you crazy?"

He shot back, "Are you?"

They held each others' glares.

Carlton pushed on, "If you have a family, then you have everything to live for. I've got nothing. If I can help you get them back, I've had a hell of a lot better day than I started out with."

"So would I," Rico said after a moment.

"Then tell me what I need to know."

But Rico wasn't done. "What do you mean, you got nothing? You got a car. You got clothes on your back."

"Those are just things."

"Things count sometimes. You mean you don't have people."

People?

Maybe he did have a few… scattered. Indifferent. Other than Juliet, and maybe his sister, they were all indifferent. He and Jack Daniels had discussed this a few times.

And suddenly, here in the forest under the stars with a gun-wielding stranger, it seemed as good a time as any to spill his guts.

"Tonight I told a woman I loved her. A woman I can never have and who doesn't want me, and by telling her, I just wrecked everything about our friendship, which was the best and most important thing I have ever had, or _will_ ever have, in my life." He crossed his arms and didn't care if it seemed defiant. "So going up against your cousin? Big. Frickin'. Deal."

He'd been having a crappier week than normal. A multitude of little insignificant things had gone wrong, cases were stalling out, Chief Vick had been pushing at them to get through their paperwork backlog, and worst—and really the only truly bad thing—Shawn Spencer had been coming around again, working on Juliet, and _he thought he'd seen her weakening_.

The cases would eventually unstall, and the copier would get fixed, and the paperwork would get done, and Chief Vick would relax, but Juliet falling for Spencer would be his undoing.

 _You have to shake this_ , he'd warned himself. _You have to put her back on the 'Partner And Friend Only' shelf. You have to stop noticing her and wanting her and loving her_.

He'd contemplated having another talk with Jack Daniels, who was beckoning to him from a new bottle on the kitchen counter. But Jack's friendship was fleeting and always left him with a hangover, so he looked the other way and got in the car and started driving instead.

It wasn't the first time. With the windows down and the chill of the mountain air whipping around him, a long drive into nowhere had often cleared his head, if not his heart, and given him back some breathing room.

Tonight, a flat tire had led him to this moment, confessing to a stranger and prepared to help said stranger do something which, while possibly bad if Rico did kill the guy, was ultimately good.

He needed to tell Rico he was a cop.

He needed to text Juliet that he was okay and about to do this thing and ask her to send someone over to wherever Rico's family was being held.

"How far away is his place?"

Rico was still staring at him.

"Rico. How far are we from your cousin's place?"

"Half a mile," he said, and pointed away from the direction he'd wanted Carlton to walk into the woods.

"Do you trust me?"

The silence seemed very loud suddenly.

The nearby crickets, the rustling of leaves.

The glint of moonlight off of Rico's gun.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Karen Vick wasn't surprised when Juliet stormed into the station. She'd told her to stay put, to be ready to respond if Carlton texted again.

But Team O'Lassiter, as she thought of them privately, were fierce about each other in a way she didn't even think _they_ understood.

Juliet's color was high and her anxiety higher. "I need an update, Chief."

"Rangers are moving in on foot toward the Mono Campground. They're checking every nook and cranny, Detective. You should be at home."

She'd just gotten to the station a few minutes ago herself, and was waiting for a fresh pot of coffee.

"I'm going up there."

"Which would accomplish what? You know that road. It'll take you ninety minutes just to get to where he _was_ , and he hasn't been _there_ for an hour. Let the ground units do their work."

"Chief, please. I can chopper in—"

She rounded on her, empty cup in hand. "Excuse me?"

"Not close enough to be heard," Juliet insisted. "But close enough to shave some time off. I could get to the ranger station and—"

"Enough," Karen interrupted. "Sit down and listen."

Juliet sank into her chair almost weakly, and Karen took the chair beside the desk.

"Detective. I know you have an exceptionally strong connection with your partner, and I'm as worried as you are. But you need to stay put. There is nothing you can do to help except be available—and focused—when and if he contacts you again."

It took a long while for Juliet to compose herself, but when she spoke, it was more businesslike. "Is there any information from P-Bar Flats on who this man might be?"

"Not yet. Those campgrounds, they're not meant for permanent living, but people slip through the cracks all the time. It's a big forest and the rangers can't be everywhere."

Juliet looked as if she wanted to say "duh," but wisely withheld even the eyeroll.

Karen relented a little. "Did Carlton say why he was up in that area?"

She spotted the hesitation before Juliet answered.

"He said he was just out driving."

"But you have another theory?"

The dark blue gaze turned her way for a few moments, but the young woman was silent.

"O'Hara?"

"Not really. I asked him more than once."

She sensed that was true. "And nothing?"

Juliet looked down at her hands briefly. "I can only tell he was troubled about something."

Karen sensed that was true as well. "Something you think you might be able help him with?"

The blue gaze was back, startled and … _caught_.

 _That's what I suspected._

 _Now, as_ Chief _I should remind her not to get involved with her partner._

 _As a woman… there's only one thing I can say which matters._

"You'll have your chance, Juliet. Carlton's too fierce to go down without a fight, and you're too stubborn to let him go without an explanation." She stood up, adding quietly, "Besides, I'm pretty sure the two of you are going to be together for a long damned time."

She heard Juliet's intake of breath, but busied herself with the coffee pot, and wasn't at all surprised that Juliet chose to remain silent.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

 **. . . . .  
** **. . . .**

 _A/N: allow me to plug some recent new Lassiter/Juliet-centric stories: please check out pothangfanfic's ongoing offering " **How Far Would You Go** " and also and a new tale by jdschmidtwriter, "_ ** _Steady As She Goes_** _." Both authors were kind enough to respond to my nagging them for stories, and deserve your eyes upon them! Now back to the forest…_

 **. . . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Rico was studying him as if he were forensic evidence under a microscope.

After a long time, he said heavily, "I don't have a lotta reasons to trust anybody, Lassiter."

"I can relate to that," he muttered.

"So this conversation is over, got it? Just go in the damn woods and find the damn creek and get to the damn campground." He pointed with the gun. "I got work to do."

Patience.

Still not really his strong suit.

Nonetheless… he was a cop. He had to see this through, even if he didn't know why the hell he was doing it this way. Was it because of the bad-seed cousin? Rico's family? Rico himself? _Justice_?

He stood his ground. "It's the wrong kind of work to try to do alone."

"Let it go, man. Move out."

Carlton persisted, "You only get one chance to do this right. To get what you need from your cousin. To save your family."

"Move out!" he repeated angrily. "This is not for you!"

"Hey, you brought me here! You could have put me down back at P-Bar but you didn't. Because you didn't want to make things worse, right? Because you're not a killer, right? Because you love your family and you want them safe, right?"

"I don't. Need. _You_. Now get out of here!"

Carlton clenched his fists, feeling as if he were up against a diabolical combination of Shawn Spencer and every single person who ever tried to be perky around him when he was out of coffee.

Or awake.

"You go in alone, you end up dead, and then they've got _nobody_. Why the hell would you turn down backup?"

Rico was equally frustrated. "Why the hell would you tell a woman you loved her if you knew she didn't love you back?"

Carlton was flabbergasted. "Dammit, what's that got to do with _anything_?"

"Just tell me!"

Of all the smackworthy time-wasters… he yelled, "Focus! Who's waiting? Your wife? A kid? People hoping and praying to be rescued and find _you_ on the other side?"

Rico nearly threw the gun at him. "Don't start that crap with me! Don't you play like you're some kinda shrink!"

Despite his police training to function in just that capacity in exactly this kind of situation, Carlton was still pissed off at the ludicrousness of it all.

He roared, "Time's running out! The longer we stand here arguing because you're too butt-headed to accept my help, the less time there is for you to save the people you love!"

"They're nothing to you! _I'm_ nothing to you! I punched you in the head and stole your car, man! Now get out of here before I shoot you right between the eyes!"

"They're more important than any of that crap. Let me help!"

"Maybe you just want the drugs yourself," Rico yelled. "Or maybe you just got some death wish because you couldn't get anywhere with that woman!"

He instantly wanted to slug him, twice for each insult, never mind that little voice saying _he might have you on the death wish thing_.

"I don't want any damned drugs, and would you shut up about her? I'm an idiot, okay? That what you want to hear? That I'm a stupid-ass hopeless moron? While your flesh and blood—something which really _matters_ , dammit—is locked up somewhere crying for you to save them?"

They stared at each other in matched fury, silence gradually settling down around them again.

"No," Rico said flatly. "I wanna know, and the reason I wanna know is because you don't wanna say. Why'd you tell her you loved her if she doesn't feel the same way? Is that the real death wish? _Why'd you tell her_?"

It was almost the same tone of disbelief and anger he'd used on himself in the trunk during that first hour.

And there was no good answer, and this was all so maddeningly insane, and Carlton was tired and his head hurt and the damn blood on the side of his head felt annoyingly sticky. This idiot was making it impossible to help him and at this point was just as likely to shoot him for staying put as he would for hearing the truth.

So he said it.

The hell with it all: he said it.

"I told her I loved her because I thought _you_ were about to kill me."

Rico stared at him.

Crickets chirped.

A scant ten seconds passed.

Maybe only eight, but definitely no more than ten.

By the sudden coldness Carlton saw in Rico's eyes, ten seconds was all it took for him to do the math.

Rico let out a long, slow breath, and his eyes glittered in the red glow from the taillights.

He raised the gun and pointed it straight at Carlton.

"Well, amigo, I am _now_."

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

It had only been a little over an hour since Carlton's last text, but it felt like days. Juliet was as on edge as if she'd single-handedly drained every Starbucks dry within a ten-mile radius.

The Chief wouldn't let her do anything except sit with her phone and wait. _You know the drill, O'Hara. Just be patient, O'Hara. Let us work, O'Hara. Dammit, go SIT DOWN, O'Hara!_

Other than the buzz of activity near the conference room, the station was quiet. The Saturday night crew was reporting only the usual level of bar fights and drunk-and-disorderlies, and in a moment of utter melancholy Juliet picked up the phone and walked over to Carlton's desk.

She needed some sense of him—some comfort—from being in his space. Where he sat, where he glared, where he stabbed viciously at the laptop when it didn't cooperate. Where he leaned back and smiled triumphantly when he'd figured out a puzzle, or stood to high-five her when she did it herself.

She ran slightly shaky fingers through her hair and closed her eyes for a few seconds, then put her hands flat on the blotter, imagining his in the same place, leaving his imprint. _Carlton_. _I know now how much I need you._

Damn everything.

 _IWALU._

The single word blazed in her brain as clearly as if she were looking at the screen itself.

 _I Will Always Love You…_

A heavy sigh escaped, and she trembled despite her resolve to hold herself together.

Looking at the phone now, she did something she should have done—and yet shouldn't do at all—earlier. She took screen shots of their more personal texts, sent them to her private email account, deleted that message from her sentmail, and then deleted the personal texts from the phone. Going over to her private email account, she moved the message to a subfolder within a subfolder within a subfolder. If she were at home, she'd print it out and save only that.

If anyone wanted to see her phone, to see the _full_ range of texts from Carlton, it was going to take a little work to get to the personal conversation they'd had, and particularly his final declaration. She wouldn't _hand_ that to anyone on any platter, silver or otherwise, and it would take a court order to get her to give them up.

Anything about where he was or what was happening, fair game, no contest, and no interference from her. But how he _felt_ about her? That wasn't police business, and she'd deck anyone who thought otherwise.

Juliet blinked back tears and straightened just as Dobson lowered himself into the chair beside the desk.

He nodded at her. "How you holding up?"

She shrugged. "I hate the not knowing. I guess that's a big duh."

He shrugged too. "You can still say it."

"Did you get called in to work on this?"

"Nah. My weekend shift." He sipped from his "World's Stealthiest Cop" mug and gave her a funny look.

"What is it?" Dobson didn't say much most of the time, so when something was on his mind, Juliet was one of those who paid attention.

"Ah… nothing."

"Dobson. Give me something else to think about." Because good Lord, she needed a distraction from the jagged edges of her mind.

He gave her a crooked smile. "You might hit me."

She shook her head. "Too tired."

Dobson seemed to judge that as true. "Hope so. I've seen you take down perps practically with one hand behind your back."

"Damn straight." But then a question unexpectedly popped into her head and she heard herself ask it out loud. "What did you know about Carlton's relationship with his last partner?"

It was hard to faze Dobson, who was preternaturally calm, but his eyes widened. "Uh, not much. No one knew much."

"Did they… were they…" She foundered. "How were they?"

He hesitated. "Barry wasn't here that long. Maybe a year. She kept to herself. She kept to Lassiter. And he…"

"He liked it?" She didn't like how the idea twisted her gut.

"No, I don't mean… I mean he was in a bad place personally then. He didn't have to _say_ much of anything for everyone to know things were bad at home. That ex of his, she used to come down here sometimes just to bitch at him. Barry saw it and I think… well I don't want to say she felt sorry for him because he'd have kicked her to the curb if it was like that."

"But he needed some support," she suggested. "And Barry provided it?"

"Yeah. I guess. I mean that's just how it looked to me. She was ambitious. Not like she was using him but she wasn't stupid. I think she just…" he hesitated again. "Positioned herself strategically. You get me?"

"I get you." Her guts untwisted a little.

"Spencer busted 'em up pretty quick, but I dunno how long it would have lasted anyway. I think she'd have moved up and out of here."

Juliet tried to analyze his tone. "Did you like her? Was she likable?"

He took his time answering. "She was okay. She didn't try to be one of the guys _or_ one of the girls. She was set on being independent. I think that's part of why Lassiter went for it. That someone who didn't need anyone wanted to be with _him_."

It occurred to her that this was the longest conversation she'd ever had with Dobson, and also that he was exceptionally observant about things no one would ever suspect him of _all_ people to notice in the first place.

But those observational skills—and suddenly the truth of "World's Stealthiest Cop" shone through—could easily be turned on her as well.

"Thanks for the answers," she said. "They aren't questions I could ask him."

He grinned. "Guess not."

"So what were you going to ask that you thought I might hit you for?"

"Oh. Are you dating Spencer?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "What? No. _What_? Why?"

And why did he look relieved? Surely he wasn't… no of course he wasn't. He was happily married and there'd never been even a breath of scandal about him except that sometimes when he thought no one was looking, he'd skip out on making a fresh pot of coffee after pouring the last cup for himself.

"It's just he's always hanging around trying to put moves on you, and you don't exactly send him packing."

Juliet stared at him.

He said somewhat uneasily, "Forget I asked."

"No, let's clear this up. I'm not dating Shawn. Every now and then I hang out with him and Gus but that's all. Shawn's fun—they both are—but I want someone a little more focused."

 _Like Carlton._

 _No… not_ like _Carlton._ Carlton _._

If anything, Dobson looked even more relieved than before.

It was sort of comical. "What made you ask me this now? Did someone say we were dating?" Then she scowled. "Did _Shawn_ say we were dating?"

"No, but even if he did, I don't put much stock in what he says if it's not about an active investigation."

"Then why did you think it?"

Uneasy again, he shifted in the chair and finally said, "It was something I heard from Lassiter."

Juliet was dumbfounded. "He said I was dating—"

"No," he interrupted. "It wasn't like that. I just heard him… muttering to himself one day this week. It was right after Spencer had been in to chat you up. I heard him say something about you popping out little Spencer babies the way things were going."

She stared at him, open-mouthed. Of all things… of all ridiculous things… of all insurmountably indisputably ridiculous things…

Dobson was eyeing her speculatively. "Sounded like a man with regrets, is what I'm saying."

Still no words, but now goosebumps.

 _Regrets._

The words on her screen: _Inaction. Silence. Me . . . . . About you._

"Dobson," she breathed.

"I know it's none of my business. I know I should butt out. I just thought… if you were dating Spencer, you might like to know to tread lightly around your partner."

She swallowed.

"And if you weren't, you might like to know…" He cleared his throat. "You might like to know he could stand to have his mind eased. Or…" Now he looked down into his mug and sighed. "Or his heart."

Hearing that, hers almost broke.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

The gun was indisputably deadly, Rico's aim looked perfectly straight, and Carlton was annoyed.

"Do it," he snapped.

Rico didn't blink.

"You've been waffling about killing me for over two hours. Just _do_ it already."

"Shut up." The coldness had spread from his unrelenting glare to his tone.

Carlton pushed on, "And hey, if your cousin hasn't already heard us yelling, for damn sure he'll hear the shot. If you're lucky maybe he'll bring you the drugs personally."

Huh, sounded like the snarkiness he'd been withholding earlier was back on the job. God and Juliet forgive him if this really did get him killed. She might not love him back, but she'd be seriously pissed off if he _irritated_ someone into murdering him.

Rico remained steely. "Where's the phone?"

He jerked his head back toward the trunk.

But when Rico took a step closer, he said, "There's not much point in destroying it now."

"Why not, bro? I could beat you in the head. Lot quieter than a gunshot… once you stop screaming."

 _Good one_ , he thought. "Maybe so, but there's something else I forgot to tell you."

The gun… damn, that gun was aimed _precisely_.

"Spit it out."

"I'm a cop. SBPD. My partner's been tracking my phone so people already know approximately where I am. Shoot me, and you've as good as killed your family yourself."

Gone _instantly_ was the steeliness; Rico came at him in a rage, forgetting the gun, using his fists instead, and they fought.

It wasn't pretty and it wasn't organized. It was just ugly.

Carlton went down fast but hoped not to be there for long; Rico was bulkier and fueled by emotion and rage and despair and all Carlton had besides the head wound was training and cussedness.

But he scored several meaningful punches while taking a few himself, and it wasn't until they were both down and Rico was on top trying to choke him that he started to think that his cussedness and training might not be enough after all.

He somehow shoved Rico back and off him and rolled away but Rico got hold of a sharp stick and struck him with it—and then _stuck_ him with it, hard and deep in the thigh, and Carlton thought plainly _oh hell that's gonna cost me_ _big_ and walloped him in the jaw with the last bit of his energy before he was free.

Rico fell to the dirt a few feet away, breathing raggedly, and Carlton scrambled back weakly to lean against the car, keeping his hand over the stab wound and trying to believe the amount of blood coming from it was a minor issue.

Disbelief wasn't going to work. He pulled off his tee and used it to wrap around the wound tightly, and the chill breeze in the air against his bare skin helped cool him off and settle his brain back into some kind of functionality.

Rico wasn't getting up. He stared at the night sky and Carlton could see tears on his cheek.

"Okay," Carlton said unevenly, "there goes the plan of taking on your cousin."

Nothing from the other man.

"We can still help your family."

Still silence.

"I can set up an extraction. Tell me where they are and the SBPD can get them out. DEA can come up here and take care of your cousin."

"What the hell are you talking about." It wasn't a question, just a weary statement.

"Why didn't you go to the cops in the first place? And don't give me that bull about us not caring." He brushed dirt off his face, feeling increasingly tired.

Rico's fist closed around a clump of grass but he didn't answer.

Carlton suggested shrewdly, "You have a record."

Nothing.

"Maybe there's even an outstanding warrant out on you. Something minor. Weed, unpaid traffic tickets."

A heavy sigh.

"Who'd they take?"

He waited. Eyed the blood-soaked tee. Thought dispassionately that the conversation had better speed up.

Another heavy sigh. Rico seemed to have given up all resistance. "My sister Elena and her son Tomasito. He's got Down syndrome."

 _Bastards_ , he thought, and felt it keenly. "Who are these guys?"

It took a while, a while during which Carlton's head pounded and his bloody leg had begun to scream in pain, but Rico talked. He named off a low-level gang on the edges of Carlton's awareness, one with only about seven members, of which Malo—the aptly named cousin—had been a part until he took off with their latest drug score, a kilo of cocaine.

When Rico was done, judging by the heavy silence from his side of the road, Carlton knew there was only one sensible course of action: retreat.

"You know where they're holding Elena and Tomasito?"

"Yeah."

"Guarded?"

"Fence. Dogs. Lights."

"We can get them out."

"So what. They'll just come after us later. They'll kill Elena and Tomasito just to get at me, and then they'll kill me too. And I don't care about me, but Tomasito…" He rubbed his face.

"We can get them out," he repeated, "and with your testimony and the coke, we'll get Malo and Padilla's crew too."

"You can't promise that." Weary, still unbelieving.

Which torked Carlton off royally, pain and blood loss notwithstanding. " _Suck_ it. I'm the head damned detective and I might make mistakes but when I tell you your family is safe, you can count that as gold."

They might have sounded overly bold, those words, and his promises didn't mean other agencies wouldn't bung things up later on, but by God, he'd make _sure_ this one turned out right.

Rico sighed but didn't argue.

Carlton tried to get up… then tried again. Damned leg, still bleeding through the tee. He felt more than slightly woozy.

He finally made it upright on the third try, while Rico watched idly from his still-prone position, and reached down into the trunk to find where he'd tucked the phone. "I'm calling this in," he said. "Get things moving."

The phone was only just in his grasp when Rico said slowly, "So that woman… she's your partner?"

Rico, the bastard, was a lot smarter than Carlton wanted him to be.

"Shut up."

"Smooth move, amigo." A trace of amusement.

"I told you I was an idiot. Now shut up. I'm working."

But before he followed through, he was hit by a wave of exhaustion, mixed with _what the hell can I say to her_ and _how the hell is this going to work_ and _man I gotta sit down_. He lurched to the passenger door and got in. Never thought he'd willingly let someone else drive him in his own Fusion, but adapting, his therapist once told him, was sort of important.

Rico got to his feet and approached, dusting himself off. "You don't look so good."

"There's a duffel bag back in the trunk. Got water and some first aid supplies. And another t-shirt." There was also extra ammo tucked in one pocket but with his Glock 'safe' at home, big whoop.

In a minute Rico came back with the supplies. He'd found some granola bars too and tossed them onto the dash. He handed Carlton the shirt, obviously expecting him to put it on, but it was more useful as an additional wrapping for his leg, not that he had the strength to tie it off. Rico had to help, and Rico was starting to look a little unsettled about the current reality.

Carlton rested his head against the seatback. "Okay. I'm okay. Get in. Get us on the road."

Rico obeyed, and Carlton did the really scary thing: he called Juliet.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Karen Vick had come along to ask how Juliet was doing and to tell her the rangers were closing in on the GPS signal. Juliet realized Karen was tired and agitated too and wondered why Carlton wanted to be Chief when there were times it clearly sucked.

One of the techs called after her that the GPS signal was on the move, and two seconds later, Juliet's cell screen lit up.

Her heart started a drum solo and she could hardly make out her own voice, saying his name, knowing it sounded pleading.

"Put him on speaker," Karen commanded, and gone was any hope of privacy.

"Carlton!" Juliet said more forcefully once she'd complied.

"O'Hara." _Oh that blessedly smoky cranky voice_. "I've got a lot of information, so listen up."

"Are you okay?"

"Detective," Karen interrupted, "what's the situation?"

"I'm with Rico—" He paused, and they heard the sound of another voice. "Mengual. He's in the system. I need you to move in on an address and extract two people, his sister and nephew." Another pause filled by the muffled voice. "Elena Delgado and her son Tomasito. He's 5 and has Down syndrome. They're being held by members of Gael Padilla's gang at the following address." He paused again, and while the other voice spoke, Juliet thought Carlton's breathing grew labored.

 _No, no, no… you have to be all right. I need you to be all right. I have so much to tell you. To make up to you._

He repeated the address, and fell silent a moment.

For some reason it terrified her.

Karen started to speak but Carlton found his voice again. "DEA needs to move in on Malo Mengual, whose last location was no more than half a mile from wherever my stationary GPS signal put me. He's got a kilo of coke which Padilla thinks is his. Lives out of his pickup truck. Got a camper shell."

Juliet didn't care about one damned bit of that. "Carlton, are you all right?"

"Little banged up," he said shortly.

There was some sort of scuffle and suddenly a new voice spoke, half-embarrassed and all urgent, while Carlton cursed in the background. "I kinda stabbed him in the leg. He's bleeding all over the car. I don't—"

Carlton regained the phone—longer arms, Juliet knew—and snapped, "Just start the extraction. Padilla's holding them in exchange for Rico bringing in the coke."

"Detective, the techs say you're on the move."

"Yeah, we're headed back to Camuesa from the Mono area."

"All right. I'll notify the rangers to intercept. You need medical attention."

"Elena and Tomasito take priority," he said flatly.

"The rangers will help _you_ while we help Elena and her son." Her tone was implacable and Juliet was glad, glad he had no choice but to be helped, but she hadn't missed the edge of panic in Rico's voice. Carlton's annoyance aside, he must be in bad shape.

The Chief nodded at Juliet and headed to the conference room to issue a rapid-fire stream of commands, and Juliet took the phone off speaker mode and put the phone to her ear. "Carlton?"

"O'Hara," he said. "I'm okay."

"You don't sound okay."

"I will be. Rico says we're not far from Camuesa so the rangers should be able to pick us up soon."

But his voice was slowing, his speech a little uneven. She knew they were on a dirt road but it wasn't rocky terrain affecting how his words came out. "How much blood have you lost?"

He took a breath. "Upholstery might need to be replaced."

Her heart squeezed and she found it hard to even know what to say.

"O'Hara," he began. "Don't worry. About anything. From now or before. Business as usual."

"No," she protested. "No—"

"I mean it. Business…" A breath. "As…"

Funny sounds, Rico cursing, some kind of muffled… something.

"Carlton? Carlton, talk to me!"

But it was Rico who answered, and he sounded scared. "He passed out. I gotta get us to the road."

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

So much had to happen in a short time.

Chief Vick assigned Juliet to help with pulling every piece of information they had on Gael Padilla and his known associates to assist the extraction team with the rescue of Elena and Tomasito.

Juliet understood this was to keep her from going insane while waiting for news about Carlton. She knew the rangers would end up sending him out of Los Padres by chopper; she knew that would take time, she knew he'd be unreachable at the hospital until they'd seen to him.

Rico managed to hit redial at least once to say he was back on Camuesa and saw the rangers' Jeeps approaching. He said Carlton was still breathing but also out cold.

And he still sounded nervous.

Juliet hated him for a few seconds, flat-out white-hot hate, but asked him what went on and he said simply, "I lost it. We fought. I took him down and stabbed him in the leg. He still won."

Sounded like her Carlton. _Her_ Carlton. She blinked back a tear and thanked him curtly.

But he interrupted her attempt to end the call.

"You're the woman?"

"I'm… excuse me?"

"The woman he was texting about me?"

"Yes. I'm his partner."

"I can tell he's a good man."

Juliet swallowed. "Yes, he is."

"Give him a chance. If I didn't screw it up, give him a chance." Disconnect.

She was done, then, done. She had to get to Carlton. She would go to the hospital right now and wait; she could donate blood, prowl the halls, be asked to leave; yes, those were all excellent options.

But Chief Vick said no. And damn her, the Chief really did know best.

Dobson stepped in to help her do what she had no presence of mind to do, collecting the rest of the information, and soon they had enough to pass along to the extraction team. A judge was signing a warrant. The rangers checked in to say they had Carlton and the chopper was en route. The DEA agents were preparing to move in on Malo Mengual.

At two a.m. Chief Vick finally took a good look at Juliet and said, "Go."

She'd already been 'gone' a long time.

 **. . . . .  
** **. . . .**

In the hallway outside the room which had been assigned to him, she held the bag they'd thrust into her hands, the bag with his personal effects: wallet, car keys, phone.

There was blood on all of it.

It was deeply unsettling to know it was _his_ blood. There were a few tears; she stopped them, and steadied her breathing.

He wasn't out of Recovery yet, and she hadn't been able to see him, but she _would_ be seeing him. They were _not_ going to keep her from seeing him.

Looking at his cell phone through the plastic bag, she realized there was something she needed to take care of: making sure his texts matched hers.

It was ridiculous; if the court for any reason wanted the text record, they'd either take the phones and find even the deleted messages, or they'd go to the phone company directly. But as she'd felt earlier, no one needed to have _easy_ access to something this personal, and she owed it to Carlton to protect him as much as herself. If she ended up censured or suspended or dismissed because of this choice, she could take it. She _would_.

They knew each other's phone access codes. Partners.

Delete, delete, delete.

Pause to touch the screen where _IWALU_ shone. Juliet sighed as her heart swelled.

Delete. Done.

With the phone still in her hand—a phone as much a piece of him as his desk or his chair or his favorite pen—she couldn't help but think of him in the trunk, in the dark, keying in those admissions. To her. About her.

She thanked God he was still alive, and she would, no matter how long it took, get Carlton to understand he had her now.

That maybe he'd had her all along.

 **. . . . .  
** **. . . .**

He was in the trunk, cramped and uncomfortable and staring at the screen of his phone, staring at a giant _IWALU_ there, watching it change to _She doesn't love you_ and _She doesn't want you_ and _Who are you kidding?_ and _MORON_ and _Rico should have finished you off_ and _Danger Will Robinson_ and he knew he'd have to leave the SBPD because of this. He packed his little bag and his Civil War sword and his biggest coffee mug and the trunk lid opened and he climbed out but now he was in a much much darker place because _she wasn't there_ and he didn't like it, he didn't like it one bit, so he got back in the trunk and unpacked his little bag and drank some coffee because he really really needed some coffee and texted her _never mind that last message it only meant I Want A Large Umeboshi_ and then sent a followup text explaining that an umeboshi was a pickled plum, and she answered that she didn't believe him and he said _okay it really meant Ivana Wears All Lacy Underthings_ and she texted that she still didn't believe him and couldn't trust him and he said _just forget it I promise this will go away and it'll be business as usual. Business as usual. Business_.

"… as usual."

He heard himself say it and started, opening his eyes to a white ceiling in a bright room. The light was strange. Why was the light strange? And dear God, why did everything _hurt_?

"Carlton."

He knew that blessedly comforting voice and wanted both to see her immediately _and_ close his eyes against reality, because reality was a big bite-y thing and sometimes he loathed it.

But no matter how steadfastly he kept his gaze on the ceiling, she wasn't fooled. Not Juliet. Never, ever, Juliet.

"Carlton," she said softly, and touched his face. Her warm fingertips were gentle on his skin and he realized his hand was firmly clasped in hers.

Slowly he turned to look at her, and her smile was tremulous. She caressed his face again and withdrew, but kept hold of his hand.

"You're back." There was satisfaction in her tone. Relief.

 _And you're beautiful._ She looked tired, but she was always beautiful. And he loved holding her hand.

"If you say so. Why does everything hurt?" Because everything did. Leg, head, and most points in between.

"What do you remember?"

 _I remember sending you a stupid, stupid,_ stupid _text._

"Uh…" _Think. Stop looking at_ her _and think_. "Did you get Elena and Tomasito?"

Juliet smiled. "You _are_ back. Yes, we got them. And all but one of Padilla's men."

He scowled. "What happened?"

"Relax," she said, reaching out to smooth his frown, which had the effect of freezing and heating him simultaneously. "He won't get far. He's got a giant tattoo of a spider on his face and the IQ of a mole. He'll turn up soon."

 _Ignore the touch_ , he advised himself. Himself didn't listen. Himself rarely listened. "The little boy… he's okay?"

"He's fine. He and Elena were both scared but they hadn't been mistreated. Everyone else is in custody, including Malo Mengual and the kilo of coke."

"Excellent. Rico knows?"

"Rico knows. He's very happy, even though he's in custody too." She sounded almost apologetic. "He carjacked and assaulted a police officer… we kinda didn't have a choice."

Carlton shrugged, which hurt. He knew Rico didn't deserve any special leniency, but felt a flash of guilt at having provoked, in a way, that final battle. He only hoped Elena and her son hadn't needed Rico around to pay any bills, because he wouldn't be able to do that any time soon.

"Then there's you," Juliet said, and he glanced at her again, wondering why she always had to look so damned kissable. The curve of her lips, the perfect shade of blue in her eyes, the touchability of her soft wavy dark blonde hair…

"Me?"

She patted his chest, as if it were commonplace for her fingers to brush the skin exposed by the vee opening of his gown and make his pulse jump crazily. "No concussion from the blow to the head, but you're bruised all over from the fight Rico told us about. They fixed up your leg wound and gave you a few gallons of blood, and the doctor said you're going to feel like crap for a while."

He felt like crap _now_ , but put that aside to give her A Look. "Gallons might be an overstatement."

Juliet hesitated. "It seemed like gallons. I've seen the inside of your car."

His car? "They got it back here already? What time is it?"

"It's after ten."

"In the _morning_?" He was incredulous… but it did explain that strangeness to the light.

"Carlton," she said with a laugh, "you had to be brought back in a chopper. You've had surgery. You're on drugs. The passage of a night isn't that shocking."

He didn't like the fear he could hear lurking behind the laugh, and wanted to ease it. "So where is the car?"

"The rangers delivered it to the station. It's evidence right now, but you'll have it back by the time you return to work."

 _If I return._

"Which won't be for a couple of weeks," she added.

"A couple of—are they crazy? I could go back this afternoon!" Just because he might have to leave Santa Barbara— _her_ —didn't mean he wanted anyone _else_ deciding when he could go back to work. Damned doctors.

Juliet squeezed his hand to calm him, and why wasn't he pulling back from her? Why did she seem to be determined to keep hold of him? Why was she laughing at him but looking as if she liked him anyway?

"Not happening, cowboy."

He sighed, and bits of the drug-induced dream floated in his head. "I guess if I'm leaving I can sneak in after Vick goes home and clean out my desk when no one's looking." He hadn't meant to say that out loud exactly, but _meh_ , drugs did odd things to him. Damned doctors.

Her grip tightened. "Why would you do that?"

Carlton met her gaze squarely. "Why would you want me to stay?"

The grip became a vise, and he winced. "Why would I want you to _go_?"

"Well, _you're_ not going. It makes more sense for me to move on."

Juliet cast his hand free and crossed her arms, giving him her death glare. "Just you try, buster."

He'd stared that glare down before. Sometimes it even worked.

Okay, not very often, but... okay, almost never.

He missed the feel of her hand in his.

And he was so tired. So damned tired. "O'Hara, admit it. I freaked you out by saying something I shouldn't have said and if we can't get past it, then we probably won't be able to work together. You won't want me around and I won't..." He took a breath. "I won't be able to handle..." Crap. He couldn't say it.

The death glare diminished.

It became a look of sadness, of regret. Not pity—he knew her better than that.

She asked, almost in a whisper, "When did you know?"

It wasn't what he expected, and he foundered. "When did I know what?"

"Carlton."

Hell, with as much as he'd already said to both her _and_ Rico, no point resisting now. "That I... had these feelings? Or that they weren't going away?"

Her dark blue eyes were wide and lovely and he could not read them.

"What difference does it make?" he continued evenly. "The real question is what you want to do about it. Because for damn sure there's nothing _I_ can do about it."

Juliet seemed to be trembling. He wished he could hold her until the trembling stopped. He wished there was a world in which she _wanted_ him to hold her.

Since he was blabbing everything like Guster after a bag of Milky Ways, he went on, "Not even sure I _want_ to do anything about it. But I guess I'll have to. And it'll be easier for both of us if I'm somewhere else." _In a place that's darker because_ she's _not in it_.

"Carlton, I don't want—" But she stopped, because the door opened and Chief Vick came in with a smile.

"Welcome back to us, Detective!"

He took in her greeting and returned it, not even sorry for the interruption because this was hard, _too_ hard. Everything hurt outside and now everything hurt _inside_ ; he simply wasn't built to communicate feelings the way other people were.

Juliet cared about him; he accepted it. But it wasn't what he felt for her, and she wasn't even _remotely_ ready to hear the full extent of _that_.

So he asked Chief Vick to run down the chain of events for him, focusing his attention on her, and then the nurse came in, and the doctor, and Juliet—who was on duty—got called away, and he was left alone.

Which was familiar.

And everything still hurt.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

 **. . . . .  
. . . . **

It was three in the afternoon when Juliet got back to the hospital, and she'd accomplished all but a few of her day's goals. She had been to many places and talked to many people and she was exhausted and _wired_. It had been far too long since she'd slept—at least Carlton had the benefit of a drug-induced rest—and she'd have to stop her forward motion soon.

But not just _yet_.

She marched into Carlton's hospital room without knocking.

He was in the process of getting dressed to leave. He had on a pair of dark blue sweatpants, had just pulled off his hospital gown, and next to him on the bed was a matching blue sweatshirt. There was a bandage stuck to the side of his head, his tousled black and silver hair falling partly over it. He had a bruised cheek, bruises on his torso, and cuts to his jaw.

Battered but gorgeous; this was her man.

Juliet felt anger and compassion for his pain, but at the same time, it wasn't the most important item on her radar, not right now. She went straight to him, focused only on his crystal-blue eyes, hating how that gaze immediately became guarded, and while he held the gown in one hand, frozen with indecision or surprise, she simply wrapped her arms around him and pressed herself to his bare chest.

The rough fur against her cheek did nothing to conceal his rapid heart rate, and the warmth of his skin under her hands on his back only increased as she held him tighter and tighter.

"O'Hara," he managed, almost strangled.

"Shut up."

After a few moments he gave in, let go of the gown and let his arms slide around her too.

Then, finally, she felt fully reconnected to him. This morning's interruption had been incredibly painful but their lack of communication was ending _now_ , starting with this very necessary embrace.

His lean body thrummed with life, his heart steadying gradually, and she felt him calming down. She was calming as well, but she wasn't going to let go of him any time soon. In fact, she planned to be even closer to him as soon as possible, and in her most delicious fantasies, there wouldn't be any clothing involved at all.

Hoping no one came along to intrude—not that she cared how it looked for her to be secure in the arms of her shirtless partner—she wished this moment could go on forever.

Carlton spoke again, his breath ruffling her hair. "Any chance I can finish getting dressed?"

"No." She squeezed him harder, and he subsided until she released him and stepped back.

He was flushed, and she knew she was too. "I… uh…"

"I expected you to try to discharge yourself, so I asked them to give me a heads-up. I talked to your doctor about whether I should hold you here at gunpoint and he said that while he'd _prefer_ you to remain overnight, you'll be all right if you take it very very easy and if someone stays with you. So I'm here to take you home, and yes, I will be staying with you. Shut up."

Carlton's mouth closed, and he pulled the sweatshirt on over his head in silence.

"We have a lot to talk about, Carlton Lassiter. A lot. By which I mean, you have a lot of listening to do." She smiled despite the sternness of her words. "Starting with, you are not leaving Santa Barbara or the SBPD. Let's get your shoes on. I think they tossed your socks. How's your leg?"

"Hurts." He limped over to the chair, and she brought him the shoes, and it was almost comical how wide his blue eyes got when she knelt to help him put them on.

He might even have twitched when she grasped his bare ankle, probably because she stroked his foot for a moment before sliding the shoe on.

Yes, she was being wicked. She'd make it up to him later.

The nurse came in with the obligatory wheelchair and was relieved to see Juliet, which meant Carlton had probably been a pain in the ass about wanting to leave.

He wanted to be a pain in the ass now; she could see it in his mutinous expression, but he sat in the chair and didn't even blink when she reached out and ran her fingers through his soft tousled hair.

Maybe he was merely frozen with shock. She'd find out later… and melt him if necessary.

Remaining silent all the way down the hall, into the elevator, and across the lobby, he spoke only when it was time to get out of the chair and into the Crown Vic which the Chief had allowed Juliet to take home tonight. Carlton's car was still off-limits and her Bug wasn't the best fit for this long-legged injured man.

What he said was to the nurse, a brief thanks.

However, once Juliet was in the car beside him he said, "You don't have to stay. I'm going straight to bed."

"Shut up."

"O'Hara—"

"It's Juliet, and shut up. We have a stop to make on the way."

"They already filled my pain meds prescription."

"I know. And I've been by your place to make sure there's food. We're going to the jail."

"The jail? Why?"

"Rico Mengual asked to see you." She glanced over to see his surprised expression. "He's being transferred tonight, away from Padilla's crew. The DA wants him safe until the trial."

He nodded. "You went to my place?"

"Emergency key, remember?" She gave him another glance. "You don't like that I went there?"

Carlton looked out the window. "I don't mind. I'm just… you're too damned nice, O…Juliet."

"O'Juliet," she said with a laugh. "Now _that_ I like."

A grudging smile curved his lean face. "I'm not calling you Juliet at work."

"Didn't ask you to, partner."

He looked full at her, the blue of those brilliant eyes a mix of puzzlement, unsettledness and yet… somehow, trust. She hoped it was trust, after all this time.

At the entrance to the jail she parked the car and said, "Sit there a minute while I get the cane out of the trunk."

"What cane?" he protested.

"The cane I put there a little while ago," she said with exasperation as she slammed the door.

It had been in the lost-and-found at the station, and when she carried it to the passenger side he already had the door open and was trying to get out.

Juliet put one hand on his chest and pushed him back into his seat, dropping to one knee in the shelter of the open door. "Before we go in, you need to listen."

Carlton's eyes narrowed in anticipation of a lecture about behaving or being nice or some-such; she knew that look very well.

Taking a breath, she jumped in. "Last night, before you texted me, I was thinking about you. I've been thinking about you a lot, for quite a while. I wasn't willing to put into words the exact nature of what I was thinking, because exact words sometimes make people feel they have to do something about those words, and I didn't know what to do about them." She put her hand on the car, looking away for just a moment from the intense blue stare of her man. "I love you, Carlton. I think I've loved you for a long time."

His eyes widened again but she wasn't finished.

"I thought, even if you were interested, that you'd resist it or try to talk me out of it, or talk yourself out of it. I thought you were still messed up by what happened with Lucinda Barry and wouldn't want to risk our partnership. I thought a lot of things but mostly I just… love you."

He let out a long, long, sigh, and she put her hand on his now, where it rested trembling on his leg.

"I've come to understand you're my other half, you see? So you can't quit your job and you can't leave town, because you'll cut me in two. You remember your question from earlier? When you asked what I was going to do about your feelings for me?" She smiled at him, never more sure of anything. "The answer is I'm going to cherish them, the way I cherish you."

Carlton was speechless, but _everything_ was in those beautiful eyes.

Juliet stood up. "Now let's go see Rico, and later when you're not quite so gobsmacked, you can tell me what _you're_ going to do about _my_ feelings."

He didn't have a chance to speak anyway, because a passing officer saw him trying to get out of the car and came to help—poor Carlton didn't even have the presence of mind to snap at him—and then accompanied them to inside to facilitate their visit with Rico.

Beside her, he was… well, he was doing that thrumming thing again. She could feel it where she stood: he was on fire with questions, with a need to know and understand and _figure things out_. As they waited for Rico—never alone—she glanced at him from time to time and could see he was really struggling to keep himself locked down.

Rico Mengual was led into the room and allowed to sit with them at a metal table. He'd been cleaned up and dressed in the orange uniform of his brethren prisoners and looked fairly chipper.

"Thanks for coming. I appreciate it." He gestured toward Carlton's leg. "How are you?"

"I'll be all right."

"Sorry. That's what I wanted to tell you. Sorry, and thanks."

Juliet looked between the two men, imagining Rico forcing Carlton into the trunk at gunpoint, imagining them fighting and yet somehow reaching some sort of compromise. It wasn't easy. It wasn't pleasant. Rico had bruises too, and she was sure the fight was brutal even before the jagged stick made its appearance.

A chill overtook her briefly: what if Rico had stabbed him elsewhere… what if he'd used the Colt?

 _Stop it. You_ still have _Carlton and this is your beginning._

"I got to talk to Elena and Tomasito earlier." Rico smiled at Juliet. "Gracias for that."

Carlton looked at her, and she knew he was pleased she'd made it possible for the conversation to take place.

"How'd it go?"

"She called me an imbecíl and then Tomasito told me he loved his Tio Rico so I'm good." He beamed. "That boy is like my own. Elena's gonna move them up to San Jose." Focusing on Carlton again, he added, "You're proof of God, man."

His eyebrows shot up. "Come again?"

"Why else you think you got carjacked?"

Carlton was flummoxed. "You seriously think God used _me_ to help you steal a car so you could go kill your cousin?"

"Nah, man," Rico said with a laugh. "I think he knew I was about to do something totally stupid so he sent _you_ in to stop me."

Juliet couldn't help but smile at that. "Carlton the angel?"

He gave her one of those _don't-you-start_ looks—the kind that turned his eyes a deeper delectable blue—and turned back to Rico. "Why were you so pushy about—" he hesitated. "About me? My… personal life? Why was that so damned important?"

Hmm, she'd have to follow up on that later.

Rico grinned. "I fix stuff for a living, but I've always liked to know what makes _people_ tick too, so I've been taking night classes in psychology. And there was something about you, Lassiter. I don't know what, but I could tell you were… _complicated_."

The look on Carlton's face was one Juliet would never forget, and never stop finding vastly amusing. It was outrage, betrayal, exasperation.

"Rico," she intervened before Carlton said something rude, "do you remember what I told you this morning? The thing Carlton didn't know yet?"

He smiled. "Yeah."

"Would you tell him what I said?"

The smile turned into a smirk. "You sure?"

"Very sure." _Never more_.

Rico stuck his hand out to Carlton and held it there until Carlton, puzzled, shook it. "Congratulations, amigo. You're going to be a husband."

Carlton jerked his hand back. "What?"

"Well, that's what _she_ said. She said you didn't know it but you were going to marry her." He was laughing now, as pleased as Juliet was herself.

Carlton's so-blue eyes were beyond shocked: he looked between the two of them and then focused directly on Juliet, and she felt herself flushing at the undisguised heat in that gaze.

Rico said suddenly, "Hey, maybe this means I'm _your_ guardian angel."

"How the hell do you figure _that_?" Carlton asked, tearing his attention from Juliet.

"If I hadn't carjacked you, you never would have told her how you felt. So just like I needed you to stop me from being an idiota, you needed me to put you two together."

Her man growled, "Who says we're together?"

Rico was totally unfazed. "Dude, she just said you're marrying her. You sure I didn't give you a concussion?"

"Carlton," Juliet said, patting him on the arm soothingly. "Don't hurt him. He's already in jail, and besides, there's witnesses."

Carlton rubbed his temples and sighed. "This… _day_."

 _Time to go_ , she thought, and definitely time for them to be alone. She stood up, nodding at Rico.

When Carlton stood, and as the officer was approaching to escort Rico back to his cell, he said, "Wait." Then he took a breath. "Thanks… for choosing me to carjack."

Rico's grin was broad, and Juliet didn't even try to conceal her chuckle. "Thanks for letting me stab you in the leg."

"Yeah, no do-overs on that one. Just be on your best behavior," Carlton advised. "Plead guilty, and get home to Tomasito as soon as you can."

"I will, Detective. You know I will." He pointed at Juliet. "You be good to her."

"As if I wouldn't," Carlton scoffed, but without real annoyance.

"And you be good to him," Rico added, looking quite stern. "This hombre is the real deal."

"I know." She looked up at Carlton, who was so tired and needed to rest even more than she did: the guy'd been beaten up, stabbed, operated on and completely gobsmacked over a period of eighteen hours and yet still stood there looking as if he'd go on another eighteen if the right person asked him to.

…and who, by the unexpectedly calm-sea blue of his eyes, was looking at her as if _she_ was the right person.

Time to get him home.

He managed to make it out to the car without saying a word, but once inside he sort of lost it.

"How can you be sure about me?"

"How can you be sure about _me_?" she shot back.

"Because you're… you're _perfect_ , Juliet, and I'm not. You really told Rico you were going to marry me?" He was fundamentally astonished.

"Well, technically I told him you were going to marry _me_ , but yes, the end result's the same."

She started the engine but he clamped one firm hand on her wrist to stop her from doing more. "We've never even kissed! The closest we've been is earlier when you hugged me while my shirt was off!"

Juliet eyed him. "We'll take care of the kissing soon enough, honey, and not long after that, you can hug me while _my_ shirt's off."

He let go of her abruptly, shocked, and not for one moment did she miss the flare of desire in those oh-so-expressive eyes. "Dammit," he breathed.

She agreed, and leaned toward him to find out how good it could be.

Boy, did she find out.

Carlton's mouth was as expressive as his eyes, and promised that every recent fantasy she'd had about him was going to pale in comparison to the real thing. He kissed her as if he revered her and wanted to strip her bare in the same moment, and pulled her closer to him across the seat, forgetting where they were, which was the jail parking lot.

"Oh my God," she whispered, shaky fingers to her lips when he let her go and fell back against his seat.

"Drive."

She drove.

He didn't touch her again.

She put the siren on.

At his condo building he didn't protest once about having to use the cane, which he really did need, and they leaned against each other in the elevator, just looking at each other, searching each other out.

He let her unlock the door but only went as far as his dining table.

"Are you really…" He hesitated. "Are you really _mine_?"

Juliet set the keys on the table and took off her jacket. "Yes."

"But _why_?"

The tone was plaintive, wondering and confused, and she loved him for it.

"I told you already. You're my other half."

"Juliet…"

"Not O'Juliet?" she teased.

His gaze darkened dangerously. "Don't think because I'm wounded I can't still take you down, woman."

"I'm hoping you will." She moved closer and Carlton immediately enveloped her in a kiss the likes of which left her feeling as if there was abso-freaking-lutely nothing else worth doing.

His arms wrapped around her and his heat was sizzling; she wasn't sure whose heart was pounding more but she knew they needed to lie down.

She even knew they should both probably just sleep.

Separating herself from him with huge difficulty, she caught her breath and asked if he needed a pain pill or a glass of water or anything else.

"Just you," he whispered, and held out his hand.

She took it, and they started slowly down the hall. "You really should rest."

"So should you."

"We'll rest, then." Just inside the doorway she stopped and eased him out of his sweatshirt, stroking his warm furred chest and loving how he trembled under her touch. Then, to keep her promise, she pulled off her own shirt.

"Oh God… may I?" he asked in a voice so husky it awakened every lust-oriented hormone she had, and when she nodded, he unhooked her bra and removed it.

Caught up against his body this time, she felt herself melting into a sweet puddle of desire, and the kiss was… oh, beyond mere words; certainly she couldn't think coherently. He cupped her face and looked down at her, and what she saw in his blue eyes was love and desire and a fierce need and a promise to protect and trust and… everything. Just damned _everything_.

They moved to the bed and lay down together, face to face, wrapped close and warm.

"You really, really, do need to rest," she repeated, but didn't stop his hand from moving between them to caress her breast. _Oh_ , those nimble fingers, trailing across her skin.

"I know." He kissed her anyway, moving his lips along her throat and across her shoulders. "But _you're_ here."

"I'm going to be here when you wake up, Carlton." She nudged his jaw so he'd look at her again. "I didn't just start loving you last night when you scared the hell out of me. Eye wall you."

For a moment he frowned, translating that, then gave her a slow and undeniably delighted smile. "Eye wall you too. Do you know what an umeboshi is?"

"Um, no?"

"Hmmm… neither did Ivana," he said, and sounded drowsy. "Maybe a little nap would do us both good."

"You know you're going to explain Ivana when you wake up, right?"

"Mmm-hmmm." His hands moved languidly on her back. "I'll tell you whatever you want to know, my love."

Juliet, before she fell asleep in his arms, was happy just to know she _was_ his love.

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 _[A big thanks for reading to the small but enthusiastic group of Lassieteers who still lurk in psych-land. Thanks also to_ _ **pothangfanfic**_ _for nudging me to take this little texting-story idea and run with it. Y'all go read her stories now.]_


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